by Bella Knight
“Staff Sergeant Tori Kym, please meet Special Agent French. Heard from Xenia up north that you are da bomb. And this is Lieutenant Pocero. The Nighthawks trust him.”
“Pleasure,” said Tori. They shook hands all around.
“You seem to be far from Reno,” said Sigrun to Frenchie.
“Staff training,” Frenchie said, a half-smile on her face. “And possible transfer.”
“I have to see to my wife,” said Sigrun. The two newcomers looked at her as if she had three heads. “Wraith.”
“I thought Wraith was married to Saber,” said Lieutenant Pocero.
“We both are,” said Sigrun. “We haven’t exchanged rings yet, but we are.”
The big man took a deep breath and ran his hand over his bald head. “Alrighty then,” said Lieutenant Pocero. “Let’s get a recorded statement, so go through it one more time please.”
Both Frenchie and Lieutenant Pocero took out their cell phones, gave the date, time, and location, and simultaneously recorded the interview. Then, Frenchie ran next door. Lieutenant Pocero made sure all the wounded were gone, and then secured the scene.
Sigrun grabbed her bike and took it out the back way to her wife. She remembered the code and put it in on the other side to close it. She hit her earphone and said, “Gregory, where the fuck is my wife?” He told her, and she was there as fast as she could be, without breaking traffic laws.
She parked in motorcycle parking, took off her helmet, and ran in to find her wife. She got to the right part of the emergency room by following the cursing. Wraith was steadily cursing in Norse as a nurse taped her ribs. She was lying flat with a neck brace. Rota was on one side, and Gregory the other. Rota added a word when Wraith ran out of words.
“Where the fuck is her pain medication?” Sigrun bellowed, coming to a stop. The nurse jumped.
Wraith said, “Won’ give me stuff. Worried about concussion.”
“She landed on her butt, not her head, or her neck would be broken again,” said Sigrun. “Get me the god-damned doctor, now!” The nurse jumped and ran as if she had been bitten.
“Go easy on the help,” said Gregory. “Don’t want her to quit. World needs people like her.”
“I’ll apologize once she gets her meds,” said Sigrun. She stepped forward, and Rota moved. Sigrun grabbed her hand, and Wraith clenched while Sigrun rolled her onto her side. “Did you talk to Gregory or Bannon?” asked Sigrun, looking down at her wife. Wraith’s normally pale face was ice-white, her lips pulled back.
The doctor came in. “What’s this about terrifying my nurses?”
“My wife didn’t fall on her head, she fell on her ass.” Sigrun pulled back the sheet, used two fingers to push Gregory’s face away, and opened up the hospital gown. Wraith sported bruises on her buttocks. “Now that you’ve needlessly tortured a woman by not giving her pain medication, and laid her on her back on top of her bruises, how about doing your job?” Sigrun got close to the man’s face. He had brown hair, tired brown eyes, and a bored attitude. His eyes flew open as Sigrun listed his failures. “Or, get me a doctor who can do the job.”
“I’ll… any allergies?”
“You can’t look at her chart?” asked Sigrun. “And, no.”
“I don’t appreciate your tone,” said the doctor.
“I don’t appreciate your lack of intelligence,” said Sigrun. “Now, go and find her a competent doctor. You. Aren’t.”
He whirled and flounced out, lab coat trailing behind him. Gregory stood, then stretched. “I’ll get a hospital administrator.”
“No,” said Sigrun, eyes flashing. “I will.” She spun out of the room.
“And that’s why you don’t get Valkyries angry,” said Rota, smiling widely.
By the time Sigrun came down with a cowed administrator, a nurse was giving Wraith her much-needed pain medication. Another nurse came in to brace Wraith’s head better and turn her onto her other side.
Sigrun asked when Wraith could be discharged. “She’s been shot,” said the administrator.
“She had on a bulletproof vest,” countered Sigrun.
“She needs a hospital where she can rest, and where actual competent people help her,” said the administrator.
“Home,” said Wraith. “At this point, a home health nurse is more cost-effective.”
“Whoa,” said the administrator, named Marvin Tilley. He was very short, dwarfed by Rota and Gregory. “She’s been shot,” he repeated. “And with the dose she just got, will probably not be so coherent.”
“That’s my girl,” said Sigrun, proudly. “And, she’s right. Home health care is fine for this, with a machine to give her the proper doses of medication. We have a gel bed for her bruises and we can put something more rigid at her neck area.”
“I don’t know,” said the administrator.
“She’s been shot. The guy got away,” said Sigrun.
“Damn,” said Wraith. “Building was too far away for an accurate shot.”
“We’ll keep her protected,” said Rota. Gregory nodded.
“Oh… okay,” said the administrator.
“I’ll arrange for the home health care,” said Sigrun.
“I’ll guard our lady,” said Rota.
“I’ll stand here and do nothing,” said Gregory.
“Backup,” said Rota.
He pretended to glare at her, then nodded. “I’ll be right outside.”
Sigrun talked on her headset. Rota looked at the administrator. “I’d get that paperwork ready if I were you,” she said to him. “Before Sigrun gets off the phone, preferably.”
“On it,” he said, then withdrew from the room.
“Thought the pricks would never leave,” said Wraith. “I want a sitrep.”
“Gregory’s getting one,” said Rota. “What do you want for dinner? I can get soup and salad that’s amazing.”
“Good,” said Wraith. “We can’t cook. And can ya get my wife to slow the fuck down? She seems to have only an on or an off switch, no ‘relax mode.’”
“I’ll get Skuld to talk to her,” said Rota.
Sigrun got off the phone. “I heard that,” she said. “I’ve got a week and a half left, then I’m off for six weeks.” She sighed. “I’ll tell everyone ‘no’ except for you and finishing off my projects and getting those bastards turned in.”
“Should have done that weeks ago,” said Rota.
Sigrun sighed. “Sing it, sister,” she said. She squatted down and got in her wife’s line of sight. “Forgive me for running around like a chicken and being an idiot.”
Wraith put out the hand without the needle in it and patted Sigrun’s face. “I get why you were doing it, but please stop. Just,” she said, tears in her eyes, “stop. Let me love you.”
“I miss him so much,” said Sigrun, wiping away Wraith’s tears.
Wraith wiped away half of Sigrun’s tears. “So do I. I think… it depends on him.”
“I agree,” said Sigrun. “It’s time.”
Rota stared at them, brain working overtime. Either they wanted Saber to quit, which they would leave as his decision, or… “Oh,” she said. “I’m all for it.” They all laughed through their tears.
They got Wraith into a medical transport van, with a back brace on to keep her neck straight, and slowly into a reclining seat. They took her home slowly, carefully. Gregory was there to open the door, and found Skuld inside, the lights on, and the cat in her arms. They got her in, laid her on her side in the bed, put a special contoured pillow under her head, removed the back brace, and made sure the meds machine was ready to go. The cat curled up in the pit of her stomach, purring. Wraith finally let go of the tension and slipped into sleep.
Gregory coordinated with Skuld, letting his female Soldier Pack (who were also Valkyries) onto Wraith’s protection detail. “He’s probably not coming for her specifically; I’m sure he still has Anna, I mean Joru, in mind. But, smart’s always better than stupid.”
“Stupid gets y
ou dead,” Skuld agreed. “That won’t leave you shorthanded?”
Gregory sighed. “Yes, but if something happened to Wraith…”
“We’ll get people down from Pahrump, and they can bring the bikes they’re working on,” said Skuld. “Herja will be all over me to come anyway, and we’ve got Soldier Pack there.”
“Base of operations?” asked Gregory.
Sigrun came into the kitchen and sighed. “Here is out. Wraith needs sleep.”
“We can’t use our base,” said Gregory. “Too busy as it is.”
“My place,” said Skuld. “Ours. Rota?”
“Duh,” said Rota. “You don’t get to shoot one of us and live.”
“Walking dead man,” agreed Gregory. “You ladies set it up. I’ve got to go in. We’re behind as it is, and now I’ve got three kids at home, and a very demanding wife.”
“Heard about that,” said Sigrun. “Brought your wife home a present, to hear her tell it. Half-starved waif and her two-year-old daughter abused by the child’s drunken grandmother.”
Rota’s eyes flashed, and Skuld went very still. “That woman shows up…” said Skuld.
“My wife will kill her with a frying pan,” said Gregory.
“Slowly, I hope,” said Rota. “Anyhoo, I’ll go get our place ready. Get snacks, drinks; that kind of stuff. The Nighthawks clubhouse would be good, but right across from it all…”
“No one dead,” said Gregory. “With that much gunfire, I’m stunned.”
“Bonnie?” asked Sigrun.
“Fine, shoulder shot. Pissed as hell because she can’t teach.”
“She doesn’t need to,” said Sigrun. “Herja’s coming with her own pack of soldiers.” She whipped out her phone and sent a text to Bonnie. She got on back and laughed loudly.
“What?” said Rota.
“She said Herja had better clean up after herself.”
“That’s Bonnie,” said Gregory, laughing tiredly.
Sigrun walked up to him, hugged him hard, and kissed his cheek. “You saved our wife. You need anything…”
“Sleep,” said Gregory. “And my day’s not finished.”
Gregory left the women and hauled ass to the front gate of the apartment complex. Thandie picked him up. “Gunfire, boss?” she said. “Really?”
“Not all it’s cracked up to be,” he said. He replied to a half-dozen emails while Thandie took Vegas traffic as if she’d been born to it.
“Well, fuck,” she said, as she drove into the company garage. A client was in the garage, screaming into Bannon’s face. She pulled up, deliberately squeaking the tires, right in front of them.
Gregory got out in one fluid moment, hair mussed, jacket scratched. “May I be of service?” he said.
“How many rounds expended?” asked Bannon, turning his head away from the short man with a bright red face.
“Quite a few,” said Gregory. “By me, none. Got the principal in the ambulance. Under fire.”
“Go,” said Bannon.
The red-faced man took a step back as Gregory took a step toward him. “Sir, may I be of service?” asked Gregory, his voice like butter, his face a controlled menace.
The man said, “I have been denied access to my ward.”
“School trip,” said Bannon.
“Two days,” agreed Gregory. “My own daughter’s on it with her. Mimi’s seventeen. She’ll look out for her.”
“Well,” said the man, fussing with his tie. Wonder why he doesn’t melt with that three-piece suit on in the desert, thought Gregory.
“If that’s all,” said Gregory, “I have a report to make. We need to order ammunition. The shooter escaped.”
“Yes,” said Bannon. He nodded at the fat man. “I will have a report later in the week,” he said. “Goodbye.” The men stepped toward the elevator, Thandie in tow, Sayan ready with the door. They got in, and all gave the fat man cold stares.
“That’s Sarah Ryse he’s talking about,” said Thandie. It wasn’t a question.
“Guy’s all set to loot her trust fund. I got a power of attorney paper out of her and hired a forensic accountant to watch him. Got him all hot and bothered. He’s raided several other clients’ accounts. I’ve hired the forensic accountant and the Financial Crimes Unit of the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department to approach his clients and ask pointed questions about where, exactly, their money is located. I’ve cost him the house on St. Tropez, so far.” Bannon grinned evilly as the elevator stopped on their floor. Gregory barked out a laugh.
Jaime was ready with folders. “Thank you for getting rid of that odious man. Rica Sledge, Conference Room One. The lady who wants to protect her magician daughter that won the contest.” He handed Bannon a blue folder.
“On it,” said Bannon. “Gregory, get cleaned up, and see Trevor. He’s here with the… things.” He handed over a red folder. “Get the order in, and we’ll stack up the next three, get them out so you can eat.”
“What’s eating?” said Gregory. He took the folder and hurried toward his own office.
Trevor came in nearly seven minutes to the second. Gregory was seated, folder open. “So, you want us to start a small war for you?” Trevor asked.
“Just supply the weapons,” said Gregory. He used his tablet to project the order onto the screen.
They fiddled with it. Gregory was supplying ammo to both the Valkyries and the Nighthawks. They agreed on an order, everyone signed, and the file went into Richland’s waiting hand. The next three clients streamed through, and then everyone met in the conference room for a sitrep, followed by sandwiches, chips, and soda for dinner.
“A three-letter-agency agent was shot today, and the Nighthawks’ Harley training facility was shot up by a sniper and his minions.” Bannon gestured, and Jaime put the picture of two soldiers onto the screen. “Lieutenant Yonck, a sniper, hit his terrain specialist on the head, raped her with his spotter, this woman.” Yonck was trim, with slicked-back, jet black hair, brown eyes, and movie-star good looks. Zim was standard military, bulging biceps and brown hair caught in a bun. “Charges were never filed because she was concussed and in shock from being rapped on the head and abandoned in the desert, and because some brass worked to cover it up.” Several people in the room hissed at that one. “Zim’s out of the picture as of about an hour ago. Shot a DEA agent, got shot in the head as they closed in on her location, a crack house in New Jersey where she was hiding. Yonck found out that someone was trying to find him, one of our assets.” Bannon looked up. “He’s a contract killer. He’s been hiding his movements behind an affair with a rich woman, one who is allowing him access to private planes.”
Gregory stood up. “At lunchtime today, he tried to kill his victim. An agent was shot at his location. She did a pretty good job, got into his blind, but no blood, so she didn’t hit him. Found some leather, so she nicked him.” Everyone laughed. “He broke down his weapon and went in closer. The Nighthawks and some Iron Knights were there, among them some cops, a firefighter, and two ex-military people taking their Harley course. They laid down suppressive fire. The Valkyries got the principal out the back. Bonnie got a shot through the shoulder.” More hissing was heard. “Everyone else got behind concrete walls, and/or crawled to safety.”
“What did you do?” asked Sayan.
“Ran toward Wraith, our sniper. She was shot. She had on a bulletproof vest, but she had been in a truck versus motorcycle assassination attempt and was still recovering from that. I got her to an ambulance.”
“Under fire,” added Bannon. “Our sniper has two co-conspirators. They were all wearing bulletproof leather jackets and reinforced motorcycle helmets.” Bannon showed various clips of the firefight, taken from various cameras, including those from the elevator taking them up to the blind and to the escape. “No faces, but we’re under attack. The Valkyries are pissed, the FBI is involved. Some of you will have to be at two places at once as we guard Wraith and protect our principal.”
“We’re rea
dy,” said Thandie. Everyone else grunted or said, “Oo-rah.”
“Assignments are on your pads,” said Gregory. “Get grub, eat, drink. Then, dismissed.”
Hunters and Hunted
Motorcycles roamed Vegas. Valkyries, Iron Knights, Nighthawks. They were all circulating, on main roads and side roads. The FBI was all over the hotels, and the clubs fanned out to help too. They then went to rentals and even homes that had been rented out, but no dice. The shooter was in the wind. They swarmed like angry bees. Sonic did great business.
Wraith slept for two days. The nurses kept the meds on high to give her time to heal. They put Anna/Joru in Wraith, Sigrun, and Saber’s home. She slept on Sigrun’s bed, with Tori in a chair with a gun, guarding her. She was a combination of terrified and furious.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she said, stealing a fry from Tori.
Tori snorted. “Dude’s a contract killer. You know what he and his spotter did. He needed to be taken out, one way or the other.” She pouted her lips in disgust. “He’s gone and started a war with the wrong person,” said Tori. “Or the wrong group. He shot an Agency woman, at a Nighthawks event, while shooting at a Valkyrie, while Iron Knights were there. He’s dead. The thing is, we gotta get to him before he gets to anyone else.” She snorted. “He and those bitches with him. Wonder what he told them?”
“You know anything about him that can help us catch him?” asked Sigrun.
Joru groaned. “The FBI asked me that. The DEA and the ATF asked me that. The LVMPD asked me that. Hell, even Henry asked me that. The man was arrogant. Most shooters are. Arrogant assholes.”
“Nope,” said Tori. “Just arrogant. Most want to get the job done, then do it again somewhere else.”
“Anyway, he didn’t say more than a few words to me in the eighteen months I knew him, and he was moved around, you know?”
“Yeah,” said Tori. “I get it. He went where the high value targets were.”
Joru put her head in her hands. “Now I’m a high value target.”
“Not really,” said Sigrun.